


Nothing More Natural

by draculard



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Animal Death, Cannibalism, Dark Humor, Eating Live Animals, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, M/M, Post-TWOTL, Will Graham is a Cannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:33:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: "If you'd be so kind as to reach into my pocket..." Hannibal says, angling his hips toward Will almost coquettishly.Inside Hannibal's pocket, much to his exasperation, Will finds a magnifying glass.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 40





	Nothing More Natural

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr, I’m draculard there too

He finds Hannibal at the base of the mountain just after dawn. His shoes are off, lined up neatly heel-to-heel several feet away from him, with his socks folded inside them. His trousers are rolled with military precision, the pale skin of his ankles exposed and seeming deceptively delicate in the early morning light.

He stands in a pond, his chin angled down. Muddy water stains his calves; dots of milfoil cling to his skin, and in the water, his feet are hidden by algae-coated duckweed. He doesn't acknowledge Will's approach, but there's a subtle change in his posture — a softening of his expression — his aura — that indicates he knows Will is coming, that he's comfortable with being joined for this private reverie.

"Good morning, Will," he murmurs.

Always the conversationalist. Will shucks off his shoes, rolls his jeans up carelessly, and joins Hannibal in the water. It's cold to the touch, enveloping his toes with a numbing sensation that's half-pleasant and half-harsh. If it were Will out here, alone in the pale dawn, he would never break the silence to greet Hannibal. He doesn't break the silence now.

Hannibal's hands are cupped. A pool of dirty water floats over his palms, the creases in his skin turned dark. A tadpole swims there, its tail flicking across Hannibal's bent fingers, its blunt head butting against his thumb.

Beneath the water, Will feels more tadpoles nipping at his feet. He says nothing until an abrupt sting — like a small section has been torn from his uppermost layer of skin — makes him cry out in surprise.

Hannibal glances at him, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a crooked smile.

"They bite," he says, almost apologetic, mostly amused. Will takes a step back and balances on the edge of the pond, bending over to peer into the muddy water. When the swirling clouds die down, he sees angry masses of tadpoles beneath the surface. "Spadefoot toad larvae," Hannibal says.

Slowly, Will straightens up again. He crosses his arms loosely over his chest and bends his left foot over his knee, checking for blood where he was bitten.

"Born in cattle wallows," Hannibal says, his voice far away. He studies the tadpole in his cupped hands almost reverently. "There is no humbler origin, and yet... Some of them are omnivores, Will; they feed only on algae and detritus. Others spawned from the same eggs choose to turn on their brothers, consuming the small and the weak. Do you see a difference between them, Will? A physical difference?"

Will says nothing. He watches as Hannibal bends at the waist, keeping one hand cupped and aloft; the other dips gracefully into the water and stays there for a moment before he scoops out another tadpole. He turns without swirling the mud; he extends his hands to Will, the water in his palms little more than a glistening sheen, the tadpoles flopping beneath the sun.

One is small, with flecks of dark green along its body. The other is almost four times larger, its flesh a light tan.

"They're different species," Will says, his voice flat.

"You'd like to believe that, wouldn't you?" says Hannibal with a smile. He lets his knuckles brush against the flat of Will's hand, coaxing him open, and deposits the smaller tadpole in his palm. Hannibal ducks his head in an attempt to study Will's face or perhaps make eye contact; his hair falls over his eyes. "If you'd be so kind as to reach into my pocket..." he says, angling his hips toward Will almost coquettishly.

Inside Hannibal's pocket, much to his exasperation, Will finds a magnifying glass. He studies the tadpoles one at a time, at Hannibal's behest. The larger ones — the cannibals — have keratin beaks, and Hannibal assures him that under a microscope, he'd find sharp plates of the same material forming teeth inside their mouths. The smaller tadpoles have no such thing.

"And all because they eat their brothers," Will murmurs, not quite making it a question. He lets the smaller tadpole go, releasing it to the squirming black mass beneath the water. He stays there for a moment, the cold water trailing over his fingers, the scent of algae and wet earth rising to his lungs. Hannibal stands over him, his eyes warm, his lips curved in something almost like affection.

Hannibal raises his palm to his mouth. His lips part; the water on his hand leaves his skin glistening when he moves it away again. For a moment — suspended in time — the larger tadpole is a dark, wet bulb of flesh and muscle between his lips, and then there's a flash of teeth and tongue, and Hannibal's eyes slide closed, and the tadpole disappears.

"There's nothing more natural than cannibalism," he says, and Will huffs out a humorless laugh. He lets Hannibal help him to his feet.

When Hannibal kisses him, his lips taste like the pond — cold and foul and almost metallic, the slime of algae mixing with the copper of the tadpole's blood.


End file.
